


Drabbles, short fic and requests - Hetalia

by harin91



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Gen, M/M, Omega Verse, Request Meme, Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8297545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: A collection of all the requests already posted on Tumblr.#1: London's dishwashers#2: Home intruder#3: Lost and Found#4: Wrong song, darling





	1. London's dishwashers

**Author's Note:**

> All the works will **not be beta-ed** and **English is not my first language**.
> 
> This first drabble is to celebrate reaching 150 followers on [my art blog](bightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com).  
> So I thought of writing about something I was “requested” by a friend (not in the fandom tho XD) who said I should use Italian stereotypes for North and South Italy.
> 
> I’ve choosen a very current one which we Italians also make jokes about: the young students who go to London and take part-time jobs as dishwashers. It’s half truth and half stereotype so please have in mind I don’t mean to offend or hurt the sensibility of anyone by publishing this small crack fic.  
> Facciamoci una risata!
> 
> This drabble is: gen, humor, no pairings

He woke up in the middle of the night to a loud crash in the kitchen.

“Please be the cats, be the cats…” he hoped.

Another crash followed soon after, then a thunk. Then a very loud and very human voice started whimpering and another very loud and very human voice started screaming at the first.

“No… not again…” he sighed, rolling around to reach the side of the bed and get up.

He quickly put his nightgown on as the sounds downstairs intensified and hurried to the kitchen.

There he found, as expected, the two national personification of Italy making a mess by the sink. Again.

 

“It’s the third time I tell you!” he cried, catching the two Italians’ attention: they both jumped and tried to hide themselves. Veneziano still whimpering and shielding himself with the plate he was holding and Romano wielding a ladle and almost crying.

“Stop doing this! I don’t need dishwashers!” rumbled again England, tired and confused about the continuous repetition of the whole situation.

“B-but, Mr. England!” whined Veneziano: “It’s the only thing we can do to make you happy and let us stay here!” he justified.

“What!?” asked England, bewildered.

“We tried other jobs, you bastard! But you only let us do the dirty ones ‘cause we’re poor, damn it!” exclaimed Romano.

“Please, Mr. England, don’t make us go away! We need the money and the experience and to learn better English while we’re here!” begged Veneziano, desperate enough to make England pity him. He even sniffled loudly, to add emphasis to the act.

The blonde Nation sighed: “Okay, just once more. But then you both go to sleep!” he warned.

The two Italies nodded and, relieved, got back to their task of washing the British Nation’s dishes.

 

“ _Guarda, guarda qua! Questa povera teglia è piena di buchi!_ ” (Look, look at this! This baking tray is full of holes!) lamented Romano, showing it to his brother.

“Mr. England, please… let us also cook next time.” said Veneziano, cradling a completely burnt and broken frying pan like it was a baby: “ _Questa ha sofferto parecchio…_ ” (This poor one suffered so much…)

“ _Onore ai caduti_.” (Honor to the fallen) said solemnly Romano.

England sighed in defeat and grumbled all the way up the stairs to his bedroom.


	2. Home intruder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was requested to write my very first ScotEng and also my very first omegaverse by lovelies [gallifreyanlibertea](http://gallifreyanlibertea.tumblr.com/) and [mamin-the-troll](http://mamin-the-troll.tumblr.com/)  
> I decided the only way I could do it was making it very fluffy, since I’m completely inexperienced with omegaverse (that’s Mana’s job!).
> 
> Notes: I took inspiration from a dialogue Arthur had in the last published chapter of my longfic [‘The House in London’](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7450105/chapters/16928128), but in this Alistair and Arthur are not brothers. Also, my favourite hc about Scotland is that he’s got stubbles.  
> Please forgive me for my bad attempt at written Scottish accent!
> 
> This fic is: omegaverse, fluff, ScotEng

Being all alone in Alastair’s house was a new, strange sensation.

 

Usually, when he’d came to visit in the evening, tired after a whole day of work, the lights would have been on in the kitchen and living room, the air would’ve been warm and cosy, smelling of baked goods or of dinner steadily cooking on the stove.

He would have been welcomed in with a cup of steaming tea, a warm blanket gently placed on the shoulders and a quick, bearded and itchy kiss on the cheek.

 

But the house was now cold and dark. The kitchen was silent and lacked any smell of food: instead it was kind of stuffy after a whole week closed and unused.

The blanket he was usually offered was neatly folded on his favourite armchair and the only sound filling the air was of the old wooden cuckoo clock on top of the stairs.

 

Alastair’s house was an old two storeys cottage in the Edinburgh area, with creaky wooden floors and stairs, big widows that frosted in the cold of winter and a roof where sometimes birds and dormice took shelter.

It reminded Arthur of his grandparents’ old house in Wiltshire, where he spent many weekends of his childhood chasing fairies and pixies in the garden and listening to the steady falling of raindrops on the windowsill at night.

 

Alistair had been in Dublin, visiting a cousin, for almost six days.

Arthur had made do during the week with texts, Skype calls and messages on socials, but with the weekend approaching and the realisation it would be the first weekend alone since they had gotten together, he felt like just waiting for a call suddenly wasn’t enough.

He needed to feel more of Alistair’s smell and presence to be able to finally sleep more and well and wash away the week’s stress and loneliness.

He had always prided himself of being a strong, independent omega, but that had been before meeting Alistair: now, with a partner as attentive (almost to the point of being silly, and always trying to look like he actually didn’t care) as the Scottish alpha, Arthur had somehow softened to the idea of getting a little bit more clingy.

Not that the other needed to know or even suspect he had had these kind of thoughts.

 

That was why Arthur had retreated the copy of the keys of Alistair’s house from a small box in one of his studio’s drawers, had went to the house late in the evening and had told no one, not even the owner of the house, about his mission.

It would have been very embarrassing explaining to his mate that he felt the need to sleep in his clothes, in his bed, hugging his pillow.

 

Which was exactly what he came to do: after lingering a bit in the entrance and living room, like a guest coming in for the first time, he had went upstairs, to the main bedroom.

The bed was old just like the rest of the house: king sized, wooden and with a canopy that Alistair didn’t even use.

It was soft and comfy and Arthur loved every single memory he had of spending late night and late mornings on it with his beloved.

He looked longingly at it, but first he went for the top drawer of the dresser and retrieved his favourite pair of pyjamas Alistair owned: checked, navy blue and white, of a soft and well worn cotton.

He put it on and took a long breath, eyes closed, tugging the collar of the shirt in front of his already very sensible nose. That was the smell he needed, the one he associated with all the memories inside that house, with his mate.

They were a young couple, it was true: but a bit less than one year together, as mates, was already enough for him to label memories, smells and sensations and recognise them so well.

 

With a satisfied smile, he let go of the collar and prepared to jump on the bed.

He landed right in the middle, making the mattress jolt and the bed creak and thump loudly on the floor, but it was all worth it: he was finally surrounded by softness, calmness and the heavy mix of other sensations the proximity of something belonging to Alastair always brought to him.

The best part was sinking his face in the pillow: Alastair had a favourite one, the one on the left. It was always the one thing in the room smelling more like the alpha, no matter if he had just changed the sheets. It was like Alistair: rain on a pine forest, a cigar slowly smoked on the sofa, the ocean foaming against a cliff, a warm fire crackling inside an old house.

Arthur sighed contentedly, finally home.

The exhaustion and stress left him immediately and he fell asleep, missing his alpha.

 

Dreaming of his alpha.

Dreaming Alastair right next to him, calling him, gently shaking his arm to wake him up…

“Runt. Ohy? Wake, little monkey!” he heard.

“Al… ?” he mumbled, still almost completely asleep. He turned around, stretching and yawning, when he suddenly realised he was being held by strong, warm arms in a very familiar hug.

He screeched and jumped, almost falling off the bed in the attempt of escaping his mate’s grip, all the while the other, very real and very much amused by the reaction, was laughing out loud and still holding Arthur safely by his side, on his bed.

“What? What are you doing… home?” asked Arthur, shocked.

He sat up and, seeing Alastair’s very amused look, he remembered he had fallen asleep in the other’s pyjamas.

“I can explain!” he cried, trying to quickly take the shirt off.

Alastair just laughed more and stopped him, closing his big hands on the omega’s ones and pulling him closer, almost on top of him: “I like it on ye, Art.” he snickered.

Arthur was blushing furiously and just made an embarrassed sound, defeated.

“I came home tae me little monkey,” explained the alpha, caressing Arthur face as the other pouted and tried to hide his face against the pillow: “And tae me GPS alarm ye set off breakin in me house.” he added.

“What?” asked Arthur: “You have a GPS alarm set for the house?”

Alastair just raised an eyebrow, still smiling.

“But I have a copy of the key!” protested Arthur.

“Aye… didn’t think bout that when it rang a’ eleven pm.” admitted Alastair.

Arthur grinned. He reached up to brush his lips over his mate’s chin covered in stubble and confessed: “I’m glad you hurried home.”

Alastair hugged him closer once again and kissed him on the head, one hand carding through short, messy blond hair.

“And I’m glad it was ye and not a thief!” exclaimed the alpha, before laughing again.


	3. Christmas gift: Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! *____*  
> I hope you had a wonderful day today!
> 
> I'm delivering a special gift to lovely [gallifreyanlibertea](http://gallifreyanlibertea.tumblr.com/)!  
> I’m sorry I couldn’t send you anything else, but I hope you’ll like this second attempt at fluffy omegaverse ;)
> 
> Notes: I’ve never been to NY! Sorry for inaccuracies (and eventual mistakes, English is not my first language).

Alfred F. Jones was an alpha working as a guard at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City and he was (damn) good at his job.

He was extraordinary with the kids, precise at giving directions, careful at guarding the emergency doors and the main entrance and he also could help with random informations and improvised guided tours about the sections he liked and knew about the most.

Yes, he was an alpha, but he was an extremely friendly one, he was caring and he always wore a big smile on his face when on duty, a fact that gained him the trust of his bosses, the friendship and alliance of his co-workers and the absolute love of (most) visitors.

However, his most special talent, the thing only him could do with extreme precision, the flair for which he had become famous between the museum's employees, was being infallible at finding and returning items lost on the museum's ground, just using his flawless sense of smell.

 

That was why, when one snowy afternoon of late December (almost Christmas!) his pal and co-worker Toris found a black leather glove on the American History section's floor, he immediately brought it to Alfred, asking him to look around for the owner.

Alfred smiled brightly, happy to help.

He quickly took the lost glove from his friend's hand and studied it: it was small and simple, but it somehow looked more like a male garment than a female one.

He brought it under his nose to smell at it properly: the scent hit him suddenly and he had to close his eyes to better gather all the hinted traits of such a nice smell.

It was the first time he had received such a shock from just a small sniff at a lost item.

The smell of leather on the object was almost unrecognisable under it's owner own scent, which made Alfred immediately think about how the other must have been using the gloves quite a lot.

He concentrated to better distinguish the scent's characteristics: tea and roses where the most prominent ones, but there was also rain. Rain on a green and fertile ground, pines wood burning slowly, a dust of coal, a drop of honey and just a feather of that nice smell the pages of an old book always have.

It was full, round an sweet and Alfred had no doubts it belonged to an omega.

He immediately started marvelling about how the stranger might look like: a geek? An old man? A tea lover? … a Brit?

Of course Alfred couldn't know it yet, but there was no denying that, only by scent alone, Alfred was already half fascinated by the mysterious good-smelling person.

With a scent like that, he reasoned, they had to be beautiful or at least very interesting.

The alpha sighed in daydream but quickly abandoned his thoughts to start looking around for the stranger.

 

He found him (and a him it was!) ten minutes later, in the main hall; Alfred had to sprint toward him in order not to lose him in the crowd gathered near the exit.

The man, a blonde guy with messy hair, a long navy coat and a green scarf, was walking slowly while rummaging through his bag and pockets just as Alfred approached him and handed him the glove who matched the one on the omega's left hand.

“You dropped this.” said Alfred, smiling and eagerly waiting for the other to lift his gaze and recognise his lost glove.

“Oh!” said the omega when he did, with an “o” so close Alfred mentally congratulated himself for the winning guess about the guy's British origins.

“Thank you.” added the stranger, leaving absolutely no doubts.

He then let go of his bag and took the glove from Alfred's hand and simultaneously, has their skin touched, he looked into Alfred's eyes.

The alpha lost his breath (and a bit of his mind, too).

In front of him there were the most beautiful vivid green eyes he had ever seen. Not only that, but there were also two ridiculously big and bushy eyebrows above those eyes. The faintest dust of freckles over a small button nose. Thin pink lips. And thinking back at those absurd eyebrows, they actually looked perfectly fit and cute on such a face.

Alfred must have looked incredibly dumb, motionless and shocked, looking straight at the guy's eyes and dying a bit inside for all the thoughts swirling so quickly inside his head.

“I-I...” coughed a bit the other, blushing slightly under the scrutiny and gosh that blush was the cutest thing ever! Alfred was officially going crazy.

“Your smell is WONDERFUL!” exclaimed suddenly the alpha, maybe screaming a bit too much judging by the concerned looks he received from people around them and the blush worsening considerably on the guy's cheeks.

“I mean! I found you with it!” he added quickly, receiving a confused look from the omega.

Alfred pointed at the tip of his own nose and explained: “I recognised your smell on the glove and found you.”

The omega looked surprised, then he smiled and nodded, shyly once again: “Thank you.” he repeated.

Then he averted his gaze and softly added: “I kind of... like your scent too.”

Alfred could have imagined it.

But there was an insecure little smirk on the omega's face, so he threw caution away and smiled the brightest smile he could, replying: “Wow, thanks! Wanna go out?”.

The omega squeaked something sounding pretty much like a “bloody hell” and hid his mouth behind a hand, probably unsure of his own reactions at this point.

Their eyes met again and the omega nodded silently.

Alfred realised he either needed to laugh, scream or cry at the moment.

He was probably going to do all three of these things all together when the other quickly added: “I'm Arthur.” and extended his not gloved hand.

“Alfred.” replied the alpha museum guard, shaking it.

He thought about thanking Toris for the chance of meeting Arthur.

He thought about how lucky he had been for finding the omega.

And truly how good he was at lost and founds.

 


	4. Christmas gift: Wrong song, darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second special Christmas gift is for miss [drones-of-resistance](http://drones-of-resistance.tumblr.com/) <3 I couldn’t send much else to you, but I hope you’ll still like a small fic as a gift :)
> 
> Notes: English is not my first language. This is super short and super useless XD But I’ve always liked this song and I think it suits them. Also, there a lot of fluffy cheesy romance ahead so be careful XD

He found England in the kitchen, lost in his thoughts, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, looking outside the frosted window to the snowy winter scenery in the garden already immersed in darkness.

Approaching him slowly, careful not to start him in his quiet little moment, he circled his sides and hugged him from behind, blowing a small kiss on the back of his neck.

From the other rooms in the old West Virginia mansion came the sounds of chatters, laughters, music and the television transmitting just another Disney movie. The corner where they were standing near the window was colder, but the house had been filled with friends and family all day and had been warm and bright in the cold winter day.

 

“And so... another Christmas has gone...” murmured England, breath almost ghosting over the window pane.

America agreed with a small “mmh” sound, hiding his already chilled nose inside the hem of England's sweater and feeling his lover shivering for the coldness.

“I guess it's almost time to put everything away and tidy the house.” continued England, with a long sigh. He lifted his hand to pat America on the head and card his fingers through the hair behind his hear.

“Are you having the blues already?” asked softly America, tightening the embrace around England's middle: “I'm not letting you go just yet.” he stated, resolute and a bit childish-like.

England just smiled and hummed, a soft neutral monotone.

Then, still looking outside, he murmured: “I've got to go away,” with just the hint of a musical note at the end of the last word.

America suppressed a laugh and took the opportunity to reply: “But baby, it's cold outside.”

“This welcome has been so very nice.” almost sang England, shifting in the embrace to face America and rest his cheek on the taller Nation's collar.

They swayed to the rhythm of non-existent music.

“Beautiful, what's your hurry?” asked America, bending forward slightly to hold England in something looking like a sloppy dip.

The older Nation let out a surprised cry and held tight on America's shoulders, but then he almost laughed at the other's dopey expression on his face and fell back into their silly game: “Oh, I wish I knew how to break this spell...” he sang.

“Mind if I move in closer?” asked America, just a whisper against England's lips.

They kissed slowly, playfully.

“Well maybe just one little kiss more...” said then England, closing his eyes in fake surrender.

“How can you do this thing to me?” laughed America, kissing England once more on the forehead before straightening up once again and looking back outside the window.

“You're such an idiot.” concluded England with affection, not singing this time.

America didn't reply and took his hand to guide it back into the living room, where the others where: “C'mon, the party is still on.”

England sighed, this time with a tiny smile on his lips.

 

Before they could leave the kitchen, though, America whispered secretly: “All I want for Christmas is you...”.  
He received an amused look from his beloved: “Wrong song, darling.”

 


End file.
